


Injured Innocence

by Doylebaby



Category: Actor RPF, Sharpe (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doylebaby/pseuds/Doylebaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Sharpe is in gaol awaiting his execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Injured Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> RPS/FPS crossover

[ ](http://s21.photobucket.com/albums/b261/Doylebaby/?action=view&current=InjuredInnocenceFINAL.jpg)

**Injured Innocence**

The prisoner’s hands clenched around the bars.

It was hard to believe that a couple of days from now, on Sunday, the busy market place would be turned into a place of execution. 

Where the merchants were displaying their goods today, the gallows would rise. The same people who were buying food now would watch him being hanged in a few days time.

 

The rattling sound of a cart startled him out of his gloomy thoughts and he looked in the direction of the noise. 

A slender youth was pushing a cart loaded with oranges in the direction a large, burly man pointed him, close to where Richard Sharpe was overlooking the square through the bars. 

Large brown eyes briefly met his before the youth turned his attention back to the owner of the cart.

“Put the cart down,” the man barked. “Carefully!” He added, impatience clear in his voice. 

When the lad slowly lowered the cart, a few oranges started to roll, then bounce and ultimately drop off the cart one by one, rolling toward the prisoner.

“Orlando, you bloody fool!” the man shouted and clouted the unfortunate youth around the ear, which made him cry out and hold up his arm to ward off more punishing blows. 

Richard was about to call out to the man when the eyes of the lad were on him again and he shook his head, quick and barely noticeable, but Richard got the message. His interference would probably make things worse.

“Now go and pick them up before people notice and nick them, you stupid boy,” the man spat.

Richard watched as the lad hastily started to gather as many oranges as he could carry and carefully put them back on the cart. His task brought him closer and closer to Richard and he smiled shyly at the man behind the bars. Richard smiled back. The youth quickly looked over his shoulder at his master, then handed the prisoner an orange through the bars and scurried back to the cart.

Richard stuffed the orange in his shirt, knowing he needed to hide it both from the man outside on the square as well as the guards in the prison. Oranges were a rare treat to anyone inside the dark, dank place. 

Hurriedly the youth picked the last oranges up and handed them to the big man. He took a step in the direction of the prison but his master suddenly bellowed and with two long strides reached the boy and grabbed him by the ear, yanking him around. “Where is that last orange, you thief? I counted each and every one you handed back to me and I’m missing one. Where is it?!” He roughly shook the boy who grabbed the man’s wrist with both his hands to try and free his ear from the bruising grip.

How the man knew Sharpe didn’t know but he pulled the orange out of his shirt, hesitated, then called out. “Hey you!” When the man looked up he held the orange through the bars. “I took it,” he lied. 

The man thrust Orlando away from him, stalked towards the prisoner and snatched the orange out of Richard’s hand. “Scum,” he spat at the blond and angrily strode to where the boy had fallen in the dirt. As soon as Orlando noticed the man coming towards him he tried to scramble backwards, but the man was quicker and hauled him to his feet. 

“He’s a liar, he couldn’t have reached far enough to grab the orange. You gave it to him! Admit it, you’re a thief!”

Orlando didn’t deny the accusation and the lowering of his eyes was as good as a confession. 

“I knew it,” the man hissed, spitting disgustedly in the dirt, narrowly missing Orlando’s feet. “It’s punishment you need!” He turned to one of his colleagues. “Brian? I’ve got to take care of this miserable piece of work, keep an eye on the goods and I’ll stand you a drink later.”

Brian, who had a cart full of onions looked up, and chuckled. “You better watch out Brendan, today your oranges, tomorrow your wife!”

The youth shuddered as the burly man who apparently was called Brendan tightened the grip around his arm. “Dinah is faithful to me, Brian, she has no need for skinny little no hopers.” He turned away and missed the smirk on the other man’s face. 

Brendan started dragging Orlando away with him and Sharpe craned his neck, trying to see where they were going, but they disappeared from view. He shook his head wondering if he should have kept the orange, then the man wouldn’t have guessed the lad had given it to him. 

Quite some time had lapsed and Richard had walked back and forth, checking the square every now and then to see whether the man and boy had returned. Then a clanking sound announced the arrival of the guards and Sharpe retreated to the far corner of the prison, away from the doors.

Earlier curiosity by going to the door had earned him a beating which had left him bruised and in a lot of pain. Richard knew better this time. 

One guard opened the door to his cell with his keys. “You’re getting company, Sharpe and he’s pretty too.” He laughed as the other guard shoved someone through the door with much force causing the new prisoner to land on his hands and knees. 

The door was slammed shut and locked again and the two guards walked away laughing. 

Richard helped the other man up and only then recognised the youth, Orlando. Upon closer inspection he was older than the boy Richard had taken him for. His face was bruised and his clothes torn, but it didn’t conceal the fact that he _was_ pretty. “Who did this?” he asked angrily, his finger gently brushing Orlando’s cheekbone despite the anger he felt.

Orlando shrugged then winced. “Does it matter? They all had their turn; my master, the guards, the warden. I’m another man’s property and if he allows it…” He limped over to the wall and slowly slid down against it, curling in on himself. 

From his careful movements Richard guessed he had been beaten on his back and shoulders as well.

“I’m sorry,” Richard offered, knowing it wasn’t much.

Orlando lifted his head. “It was my own fault for giving you the orange, you thought you were helping by giving it back.” He lowered his head on his arms again and closed his eyes. 

Richard sat down a few feet away from Orlando not wanting to crowd the boy. Noise over at the barred window made him look up.

Orlando’s master appeared and grinned when he noticed Orlando sitting huddled against the wall.  
“That’s your first lesson, boy.” The man taunted him. “You’ll find out the second on Sunday… if I were you I’d take a good long look at my right hand…”

Both Richard’s and Orlando’s heads turned to the chuckling man outside the prison, shock clear on their faces. 

“No!” Orlando gasped in horror. “You can’t do that.”

Brendan’s face sobered. “You stole my wares, I have every right!” Angrily the man stalked away leaving Orlando staring after him in stunned disbelief.

Sharpe balled his fists, unable to offer any comfort to the younger man, knowing they both had no reason to look forward to Sunday.

### 

They had been sitting quietly during the afternoon. Orlando’s master had come by a couple of times to either make fun of his misfortune or shout abuse at him, but Orlando apparently being in a lot of pain had hardly reacted to him.

Sharpe was concerned that the boy was hurt pretty badly, but when he had tried to take a look Orlando had fended him off, telling him he was okay just didn’t feel like moving. 

The clanking of the keys turning in the heavy door alerted them that someone was coming. This time only one of the guards turned up. He pushed a tray with two cups of broth and two chunks of bread through the small space designed for that purpose. 

Sharpe took the tray and moved toward Orlando, putting the food right beside him. He gently touched the young man’s arm, startling him out of his doze. “Have some broth, it tastes horrible, but you have to eat something.” 

Orlando shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbled without lifting his head. 

Richard decided to eat his own food and try again later to get Orlando to eat. He soaked his bread in the broth to make it more edible and chewed while he watched the young man. Bruises had started to appear on his face and chest where his torn shirt showed skin. He feared the rest of Orlando’s body was just as badly marked and he could do nothing to ease the lad’s discomfort. 

Later, Orlando still didn’t want to eat and was shivering and Richard imagined him to be in a lot of pain. He dragged the gunny sacks he’d been using to sleep on close to Orlando and urged the young man to lie down using the other sack to cover him with it. 

Sharpe used his coat to cover himself and sat down close to Orlando. During the night the young man’s shivers increased and every now and then he let out a quiet moan. Sharpe decided that keeping him warm was the only thing he could do for the lad and spooned up behind him, murmuring quiet reassurances while draping his coat over both of them. He was grateful to feel Orlando’s shivers die down after a while and he seemed to sink into an uneasy sleep.

### 

The next morning when Orlando woke up he felt stiff and sore but not cold, there was a pleasant warmth against his back and he froze when he realised where the warmth was coming from.

The prisoner!

It was well known that the man in prison was a spy and he was to be executed on Sunday. 

He didn’t look like a spy. He was actually quite handsome and his smile was warm and kind. He didn’t have shifty eyes, and certainly wasn’t ordinary and unobtrusive. Orlando was quite certain this man would stand out in a crowd. Not like a spy at all!

And now he was here in the same cell because he'd felt sorry for the man and had handed him one of Brendan’s fallen oranges. Of course his master had noticed it, he had been stupid to think otherwise. 

Orlando closed his eyes, he hadn’t actually thought it over. He shuddered when he thought of his punishment. First on his knees… then the beating…

“Are you still in a lot of pain?” A soft voice asked from behind him, his shudder must have woken the man and given him the wrong impression. 

Orlando tried to turn over but his stiffened muscles weren’t cooperating. 

“Here let me help you up,” the man offered.

Orlando nodded and with an arm around the man’s neck he was hoisted into a sitting position, gasping when his ribs protested against the treatment. When he had his breath back, Orlando grimaced at the man. “Thank you for keeping me warm, I’m sure I would feel worse if you hadn’t.”

“Will you let me take a look at your bruises now?” the man asked.

Orlando shrugged and winced. “No use, you can’t do anything about it… Are you really a spy?” He couldn’t help but ask.

The man shook his head and sighed. “You’re a stubborn arse. And no, I’m _not_ a spy, I’m a simple citizen and they’ve mistaken me for someone I’m not. I’m Richard Sharpe.” 

“Orlando… Bloom.”

“How did you end up in the hands of that animal?” Sharpe nodded with his head in the direction of the market place where at that same moment the merchants started arriving with their goods. 

Orlando lowered his head. “My mother had to sell me to Master Gleeson because we were unable to pay the rent.”

“Bloody hell, that’s barbaric!” Richard called out in disgust. “How can a mother do such a thing?”

“She had no choice,” Orlando defended his mother although he had asked himself the same thing over and over again. 

Sounds at the top of the stairs silenced them as the guards brought their breakfast which was the same bowl of broth, a chunk of bread and this time a bucket of water was put into their cell as well. 

“Your master will be here shortly, pretty, better clean yourself up a bit.” One of the guards laughed at Orlando and they left.

Sharpe clenched his fists. “Bastards! What do you think he wants?” he asked Orlando.

Orlando had a good idea but didn’t want to say it out loud. “I don’t know, maybe he wants to let me out, maybe he assumes a night in a prison cell is enough punishment.

Sharpe snorted in disbelief. “You don’t believe that yourself, do you?” He picked up the first bowl and handed it to Orlando.

The younger man didn’t answer, but accepted the bowl, grimacing at the smell but he ate it anyway.

“Orlando, you shouldn’t have to endure this,” Richard said quietly. 

“Yes I do. I’m his property and he can do with me whatever he likes; there’s nowhere else for me to go.” Orlando told Richard calmly almost emotionless. 

After finishing up his meagre breakfast, Orlando slowly shuffled to the bucket of water, scooped some out with his hands and splashed it in his face, gasping at the coldness.

Once again they were alerted to visitors by the noises at the top of the stairs and Sharpe glared angrily as this time Master Gleeson came down the steps accompanied by the two guards. 

“Get away from the door,” one of the guards barked at Sharpe.

Reluctantly Richard moved away and waited as the door was opened.

Orlando still sat against the wall trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

“Get over here, boy,” Brendan snapped at him and Orlando climbed laboriously to his feet and slowly made his way to the door. His master grabbed him roughly and pulled him out of the cell pushing the youth ahead of him until they were out of Sharpe’s sight. 

They didn’t go up the stairs and Richard worried about Master Gleeson’s intentions. There was nothing he could do but pace impatiently up and down in his cell; with the guards taunting him as soon as they noticed his agitation.

Richard thought he heard someone scream at one point, but the other prisoners were moaning or yelling whatever their situation and it was impossible to determine whether it was Orlando.

Walking away from the guards, Sharpe looked out the barred window, wondering why he felt responsible for what happened to Orlando. The young man had handed him the orange without his asking and he was sure Master Gleeson would have figured out where the missing orange went even if he hadn’t returned it. 

 

There was something about the young man that touched something in Richard. Perhaps the innocent aura that clung to him or the fact that he gave Richard the orange while he must have realised the consequences if his master found out. But mostly because a human being should never be the property of another, whatever the circumstances.

Orlando belonging to Master Brendan Gleeson was very wrong. 

Behind him the door was opened and Sharpe turned, watching in horror as Orlando was dragged into the cell by one of the guards and then dumped on the floor. 

Richard hurried to the young man, kneeling beside him. He was pale and obviously in pain and his breathing was shallow. What worried Richard was that Orlando tried to raise himself when he should stay down.

“Hurts…” Orlando panted, managing to get to his hands and knees. The blood on the back of his breeches told Sharpe everything he needed to know. 

“You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed while helping Orlando up. With an arm around Orlando’s waist he assisted the young man to the sacks in the corner and urged him to lie down on his side. “I need to clean you, Orlando, you know that, or it will get infected.”

The younger man stiffened at Richard’s words, then his shoulders slumped and he nodded once. 

Richard hurried to get the bucket of water and one of the bowls from their breakfast. Pouring some water in the bowl he rinsed it and threw the water out, then he ripped the sleeve from his shirt and tore it in strips. He gently removed Orlando’s breeches, using his jacket to cover the young man’s front.

Pushing the young man’s shirt up Sharpe saw the bruises Orlando had received from the beating the previous day. Then his eyes travelled lower and he winced at the blood on Orlando’s buttocks and thighs.

Richard soaked the strips of his sleeve in the bowl with water, wishing he had something to ease the young man’s pain. He cleaned Orlando up as best as he could, mumbling reassurances, while checking for sounds at the top of the stairs every now and then because he didn’t want Orlando to be seen by the guards in his vulnerable state. 

When he finally finished he dumped the rags in a bucket in the corner and gave Orlando some water to drink. “Best thing for you is to rest now,” he said a little gruffly; his only wish was to take the young man in his arms and protect him from more harm. 

Orlando closed his eyes tiredly. He hurt everywhere and all he wanted was to sink into oblivion but he was afraid to go to sleep and not be aware of his surroundings. Then a hand brushed through his curls, gentle and strangely reassuring.

“Sleep, I will watch over you,” Richard Sharpe told him and Orlando didn’t know why but he believed the other man unconditionally. It didn’t take long for him to fall into a much needed sleep.

 

Richard sat beside the young man the entire afternoon and only moved when in the early hours of the evening the guards brought something that looked like a bean stew and another bucket of water. 

He woke Orlando up to urge him to eat something and then he checked the younger man over, cleaning his wounds with the one rag he'd managed to save earlier and was pleased to see there seemed to be no sign of an infection. 

Afterwards Orlando lay watching him silently until he whispered. “It’s your last night tonight.”

Sharpe nodded, not looking at him.

“What would be your last wish for tonight if they asked you?” Orlando asked curiously. “A pretty wench? A bottle of wine? Something else?”

Lifting his head Richard looked at Orlando. “None of those things, they really wouldn’t make my night a pleasant one.”

Inching forward on his hip Orlando put a hand on Sharpe’s remaining sleeve. “Then what would… tell me?” He pleaded with big brown eyes and Richard knew he was lost. 

“There is something I want,” Richard started hesitantly and Orlando waited, wondering what was to come. Richard stood and moved away from Orlando though and the young man was alarmed by the look on Sharpe’s face. “It is wrong of me to want it, or even speak of it…” 

“Tell me, it can’t be that strange,” Orlando encouraged. 

Richard turned away and looked out of the window at the still busy market place. “I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms all night.” 

He could hear Orlando’s startled intake of breath. “I’m sorry. Don’t be concerned, I won’t touch you.” Richard sighed and looked at the night sky, he hadn’t meant to frighten Orlando.  
He pulled back a little when a group of men stopped in front of the window, he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.

“I would like to be held,” Orlando’s soft voice said behind him. “Especially by someone who cares. I-I have never kissed anyone before, I don’t know… how.”

At Orlando’s words Richard turned around. “I care,” he admitted softly. “I know it sounds strange after knowing you such a short time but… If this is going to be my last night I can’t think of a better way to spend it than with holding you.” Richard slowly made his way over to Orlando and eased down onto the sacks beside him.

Orlando inched closer, whimpering at the pain it caused him to move. 

Richard helped him to get comfortable against his chest and wrapped his arms around the young man, pulling up his coat to drape it over them to keep the cold out. 

“Will you kiss me?” Orlando asked as he lifted his head. “I would like to know how it feels.”

Richard dropped his head and placed a chaste kiss on Orlando’s lips, pulling back almost immediately.

“Is that all there is to it?” Orlando looked up and there was disappointment in his voice. 

With a grin Richard shook his head. “Not really, this was a very ‘innocent’ version.”

“It was?” Orlando wanted to know for certain and at Richard’s nod he cocked his head. “I’d like to try another version.”

Looking into the young man’s brown eyes, Richard saw both curiosity and trepidation. Keeping those feelings in mind he slowly lowered his head and this time when he pressed a kiss to Orlando’s lips, he didn’t pull back. 

He moved his mouth over Orlando’s to let the young man get used to the slight pressure. Then he let his tongue sneak out and gently lick over Orlando’s lips.

The young man gasped in surprise, his mouth opening for Richard to slip his tongue inside, exploring the taste of the young man. To his surprise Orlando immediately started sucking on his tongue while holding on tight to Richard’s shoulders. 

Richard hands stroked up Orlando’s back, then he removed the leather strip that kept the young man’s hair bound and Orlando's luscious dark curls fell onto his shoulders allowing Richard the opportunity to bury his hands in them. 

Orlando moaned and finally pulled back when he needed air, his face flushed, his eyes wide and darkened and his lips swollen from the passionate kiss. He brought his trembling fingers to his mouth. “I like this version much better,” he said looking at Richard with a smile. 

“Aye, so did I,” Richard agreed trailing a finger down Orlando’s cheek then softly stroking his bottom lip. “Now we should get some sleep, even if the morning doesn’t bring us anything good.” 

Orlando’s face fell and Richard cursed himself for cruelly shattering the boy’s moment of peace. He gathered Orlando close, making him as comfortable as was possible in his current condition and closed his eyes.

Morning would arrive all too soon.

~*~ 

They woke up wrapped tightly around each other. Orlando’s face was buried against Sharpe’s throat, and he was lying half on top of him with Richard’s arms holding him close, feeling warm and protected.

Richard pressed a kiss to his forehead, then gently pushed him away as they could hear the guards coming down the stairs. The last thing either of them wanted was to be caught in this position.

One of the guards banged his bludgeon against the bars. “Wake up piece of scum, you’ve got an appointment with the hangman today!” he yelled and laughed loudly. The guard waited for his colleague before opening the cell door. 

“Up!” he barked at Sharpe who sat with his back against the wall. Then he pointed at Orlando who was sitting against the opposite wall. “You! Stay where you are.”

Richard slowly stood up, put his coat on and waited.

“Hands behind your back!” The other guard snarled, walking around Richard and roughly pulling his arms backwards, tying his hands together with a piece of rope. Then he grabbed Sharpe’s arm and pulled him towards the door.

From the noise outside it was clear that a lot of people had come to watch the hanging.

Orlando was forcefully pulled to his feet, his arm held in a very tight grip by the second guard and dragged to the door as he struggled to get away.

“No, please!” Orlando cried out in desperation. Not only was he scared to death of his own punishment, but he didn’t want to see Richard get hanged. 

“Orlando,” Richard said calmly. “It will be alright, _you_ will be alright,” he emphasized.

Both guards laughed at Sharpe’s words. “Your mate here thinks there’s going to be a miraculous rescue of some sort. Don’t count on it. You’ll lose your grabby hand and he…” the guard pulled Richard’s head up by his hair. “He will be dead within the hour.”

 

They were taken from the prison to the market place, where the scaffolding had been built during the early hours of the morning. 

A lot of people were waiting just outside the prison, shouting and cursing. Some were throwing mud and a tall, burly man spat right in front of Sharpe. “Dirty spy,” he growled, jostling the people around him and the guard holding Sharpe’s arm when he crowded close. “It’s a good day for a hanging,” the man hissed in his face. 

Sharpe didn’t react and looked past the man, his head held high. 

The other guard arrived, dragging Orlando behind him. “Get out of the way!” he shouted, pushing his colleague to grab hold of Sharpe again and get to the scaffolding as soon as possible. 

 

Master Brendan Gleeson was waiting with a broad smile next to the executioner, enjoying the scared look on Orlando’s face. He didn’t pay much attention to the other prisoner, he was just a silly fool who deserved to die. Master Gleeson looked at the tool on the table before him, his hand lovingly stroking the handle of the newly sharpened axe, and he chuckled when Orlando came stumbling up the steps, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of the axe.

The guard who had hold of Sharpe grabbed him tightly. “Put the noose around him,” he instructed the hangman. Sharpe was pushed towards the gallows and the rope was put around his neck.

Richard looked at Orlando, who had his eyes firmly on his feet and he smiled, mumbling softly, “All will be fine.”

The executioner was about to pull the handle to open the trapdoor when Master Gleeson stepped forward. “Wait! Since this man was the reason the boy stole an orange, I think he should witness Orlando’s punishment before getting his own.” 

“No!” Richard shouted, horrified at the thought that something would happen to the young man. 

Master Gleeson took hold of the axe, motioned the hangman over and handed it to him. He then grabbed Orlando and his big hands held the slender young man in a inescapably tight hold. He pressed Orlando’s arm on the table, his hand dangling over the edge by his wrist.

Master Gleeson grinned as the executioner raised the axe above his head. Orlando screamed and…

“Now!”

“Fire! Fire!”

People shouted, as smoke appeared from somewhere and panic broke out. 

Something hit the executioner between the eyes and he dropped the axe, falling backwards, knocked out cold. Orlando wrestled to get away from Master Gleeson who let go of the boy to quickly snatch up the axe. He reached out once more and seized Orlando, who hadn’t been able to get away fast enough.

Sharpe dropped the dagger hidden in his sleeve into his hand and cut through his bonds, then he looked over at Orlando as the smoke started obscuring his view. 

“Harper!” Richard shouted as loud as he could. 

Brendan Gleeson raised the axe looking triumphantly at the frightened young man. “You are not going to get away!” Then something embedded itself with great force in Master Gleeson’s throat and he dropped the axe, his hands wildly grabbing for his throat where blood was spurting from a wound made by a dagger still sticking out of the torn flesh.

Orlando stood frozen in shock as his master’s blood sprayed over him, unable to move when Master Gleeson sank to his knees, his hands reaching out for Orlando, blood all over them, smearing it on Orlando’s face, neck, and clothes.

A horrible gurgling sound emerged from Master Gleeson’s mouth and still Orlando couldn’t move, not even when the big man sagged to the floor at his feet. 

Someone suddenly grabbed Orlando by the shoulders and this startled him so much that he knocked his assailant against the side of the head with his elbow. Two strong arms then went around him, trapping his own against his body, holding him tight. A voice spoke to him and very slowly the words started to penetrate Orlando’s dazed mind. “It’s all right, you're safe, it’s me, Orlando, Richard. It’s all right now, come with me.”

“Sir? We really have to move now. The smoke will clear any moment.” 

Orlando recognised the man who had stopped Richard when they had left the prison and he didn’t understand. “S-Sir?” he asked in confusion. 

At Richard’s gentle insistence, Orlando started to move. Aided by a red-haired man they went down the steps; Orlando was grateful for Richard’s arm around his waist because he was wobbling on his legs. 

“These are my riflemen, Orlando, and they will take us safely aboard our ship.” Sharpe explained as he urged Orlando on. The younger man was still in shock and his injuries were slowing them down. 

“Ship? Where… I can’t… my mother…” Everything was going too fast for Orlando to understand and he couldn’t leave his mother. 

Sharpe stopped abruptly and he turned Orlando so he was facing him. “You can’t stay here, Orlando. Your mother is safe, she wasn’t anywhere near the market place, but if you stay here they will convict you for Master Gleeson’s murder.”

“B-but I didn’t kill him,” Orlando protested.

Richard pulled him close. “No, I did. I couldn’t let him maim you, Orlando. I threw the dagger.”

Orlando gasped at that news. “But how? Where did you get the dagger?”

“Sir?” Harper intervened. “We have to keep moving.”

Sharpe nodded and gently took Orlando’s hand, pulling him along. “Harper here,” Richard nodded at the tall dark-haired man. “He stopped us just outside the prison, calling me names, remember?”

Orlando nodded.

“Well, he managed to slip a dagger in my sleeve so I could slice the rope binding my hands. They didn’t pay me much attention. Gleeson wanted all the attention for your punishment and I managed to work on my ropes while he was playing his nasty games.”

Listening wide eyed, Orlando realised there must have been a rescue plan all along. “Did you…?” He took a deep breath. “Did you plan to take me with you or…” Orlando was afraid to hear the answer. 

“Yes!” Richard Sharpe said vehemently. “I wasn’t going to leave you behind, Orlando, that wasn’t an option.”

The words made Orlando feel all warm inside and he smiled up at Richard. “Thank you,” he whispered huskily, overwhelmed by the fact that someone really cared about him. 

“Now that we’ve got that sorted, can we please hurry up?” Harper asked a little agitated, grinning apologetically at Orlando when Sharpe rolled his eyes. 

“Orlando?” Richard asked, wanting to be sure the young man was leaving of his own free will, although if he wouldn’t come along, Richard had no idea what he would do. 

“Yes, yes I want to come with you, Richard,” Orlando agreed with a smile and squeezed his saviour’s hand.

“Let’s go men.” Richard motioned at his men. “You will not regret it,” he promised Orlando.

With those words Richard Sharpe led Orlando towards a new life.

The End 


End file.
